Before The Daylight
by Tyanilth
Summary: Ten years before the events of Dragon Age Origins, a visitor comes to Castle Cousland in the spring.  Companion piece to The Hourglass, but can be read as a stand alone.


_**Author's note - this is a companion piece to The Hourglass, set approximately ten years before the events of Dragon Age - Origins, and was written for Gene Dark, who requested a glimpse of Muirnara as a young girl. Hope you enjoy it. The title was originally Before the Hour, and has been changed to Before the Daylight, because of a remembered John Betjeman quote from the poem "Norfolk" (well worth reading in its entirity)**_

_**" Time, bring back  
>The rapturous ignorance of long ago,<br>The peace, before the dreadful daylight starts  
>Of unkept promises and broken hearts. "<br>**_

Highever in spring was as beautiful as ever, with all the plum orchards in bloom as they had come along the coast road, and white sailed fishing boats dotting the windswept bay like sea birds. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir remembered the last time he had come here, it had to have been ten years now in another springtime, to attend the Chantry's blessing of the newborn daughter in Teyrna Eleanor Cousland's arms, a regal scrap of humanity with a down of fair hair glistening on her tiny round head, and a voice which could summon spirits from the Fade by its intensity. Not that he would have made that joke of course. Nobody wanted the implication of magical ability ill-wished on their child, however light heartedly. At least it seemed unlikely in this family anyway, the Couslands had never had a mage show up in their lines in living memory. They must thank the Maker for that blessing at least, daily. He remembered the lad now walking beside him from that visit as a sturdy child of five, enraptured by the wooden sword and shield that he had been presented with by Loghain's wife Celia. Bryce had fondly ruffled the boy's yellow curls. "Teyrn Loghain, Teyrna Celia, you could not have found something that would please him more. But you may have to watch out for my wife - she firmly informed both Fergus and myself, that he would not be permitted to start arms training until he was six!"

The Teyrna had indeed not been amused, he remembered, but Eleanor's manners in public had been as impeccable as ever. If she had berated her husband in private afterwards, none but Bryce would ever know of it. And now he was returning alone, a widower, and the little boy with blonde curls was now a tall stripling with cropped dark hair, his bare arms showing the well developed muscles and the training scars of a fighter. The one was all Bryce's, give him time to fill out his lanky frame and he would be the image of his father when Loghain had first known him. His training had clearly not only been in arms either, he had greeted the arrivals at the gates with the poise and courtesy of a much older man, had briskly dealt with the detachment of men at arms that had followed them, summoned stablehands to take their horses and had given orders to the elven servants as to where the men would be quartered, and the provision of food and washing water for them. The orders had been obeyed with alacrity and with nods and smiles from the servants, none of the cringing servility that was so commonly seen.

_This one will make a good Teyrn for Highever when the time comes, _Loghain had thought. _ Bryce has trained him well. _ Then he had pushed the thought aside, and had made a conventional and polite inquiry as they walked about the health of the boy's parents. Fergus had made an equally conventional answer, explaining that both the teyrn and the teyrna were expected back to the castle for the evening meal, they were at Highever village itself giving justice at the monthly Folkmoot and had not expected Loghain's arrival for at least another day. "So any failures in protocol or courtesy are entirely my fault until they get back, Your Grace," he had said, with a hint of a smile that reminded Loghain of how young a man this still was, there was more of the cheerful child there than might at first have been thought.

Loghain was about to answer that, when an older woman erupted from a doorway to stand in front of the two of them, arms akimbo. "Master Fergus, have you seen Miss Muirnara anywhere? I turned my back on her for five minutes, and she was out of the schoolroom door and away. I've tried the mabari kennels, and the kitchens, and she wasn't there."

"Sorry Nan, no I haven't. Try the stables. She might be there with her pony."

"Little scapegrace. Just wait till I get my hands on her this time." The woman who Fergus had addressed as Nan stormed off in the direction of the stable yard and Fergus turned an apologetic gaze on his guest. "Sorry, as you might have guessed, that was my old nurse, now nurse-governess to my younger sister."

"No apologies are needed." Loghain turned his gaze away from Nan's disappearing form, and glanced back at Fergus. Now, was that the hint of a blush at the edge of his collar? "Now tell me, where do you indeed think that your younger sister is? You fed that poor woman a masterly piece of misinformation, but it is clear to me that you sent her off in completely the wrong direction."

There was definitely a blush there now. "I did not believe myself to be so transparent, Your Grace. It is just possible that my sister Muirnara may indeed be down at the stables, but I think it is far more likely that she is at the training yards. But since she is only supposed to be there with the supervision of one of the household knights, telling that to Nan would be to pour oil on flames. If you will permit, we will pass that way ourselves so I can catch her there and warn her to get back."

"Of course." They altered their direction towards the grassy areas by the eastern castle walls. Fergus chuckled. "It was just as well that Nan did not recognise you, Your Grace. She has driven the servants into enough of an uproar for your expected arrival tomorrow, if she had become aware that you were here a day early the whole place would have erupted by now. I thought that all was lost when she appeared."

Loghain had a wry smile on his face. "Come now, Ser Fergus, everyone in Ferelden knows that Teryn Loghain Mac Tir wears Orlesian plate armour, and has dark braids around his face. Therefore a middle aged man in black leathers and with his hair scraped back into a tail cannot possibly be the Teyrn. I am the least recognisible person on Thedas. Or the most. Depending which way you look at it."

They had reached the training ground. Most of the sparring areas were clear, but in one, a young red haired boy of around twelve, and a blonde girl a couple of years younger were battling with blunted practice blades. From Fergus's sharp intake of breath it was clear that the girl was his sister, and they both paused. Fergus's face was a mask of disapproval. "Little hellcat. Mother would be hitting the roof if she was watching. No helm, no practice leathers, the armsmaster isn't here to supervise. And young Rory Gilmore ought to know better than to encourage her. I don't know how it is that she always seems to get all the castle misfits on her side against their better judgment."

Loghain found himself studying the young girl with curiosity as she blocked a blow from the boy with the small wooden buckler she carried in her left hand and followed it up with a swing that he only just parried. Her strokes lacked any finesse as yet, but her speed was admirable, and the sound of wooden blade on wooden shield suggested a fair amount of physical strength for a young girl. She was clad only in a short woollen tunic and trews, her coltish bare legs and arms showing many scratches and scrapes, and at least one new bruise where the young squire - Rory - had managed a blow past her defences. She appeared to be paying the bruise no attention. Her face, still childishly rounded was streaked with sweat as were her fair curls, pale blonde and raggedly cut just short of her shoulders. Fergus noticed Loghain's study and grimaced. "She cut her hair herself with a dagger, couple of months ago. Claimed it was in her way when sparring. Mother nearly had apoplexy, Nan's head exploded and Father informed Muir that if she ever did it again, he'd blister her backside for her with her own sword belt in front of the whole Great Hall. The trouble was that he was trying so hard not to laugh while he was telling her off, that it wasn't the most successful threat ever. Mother followed it up by threatening to stop her sword training till the autumn, and that did get an apology out of her. Eventually."

At that point Rory Gilmore managed a side swipe that caught the girl's upper arm, and the two broke apart and grounded their swords. Fergus was in between them in three swift paces, catching the girl's arm. "Muir, Nan is on the rampage, and you know perfectly well you shouldn't be here." He turned to look at Rory who was backing away with a red face. "And as for you, young Master Gilmore, get your backside down to the armory and tell the armsmaster that I've sent him a little helper, since you clearly have too much free time on your hands."

The boy nodded, muttered something inaudible, and scurried off. Muirnara had folded her arms and was looking sulky, though she had spared a quick appraising glance for Loghain, showing no recognition but a lot of interest, especially for the longsword he wore. "Oh come on, Fergus, Nan had got me doing embroidery all morning. I was so bored. Nobody ever forced you to do that." Her mischievous gaze flicked to Loghain, she seemed to have assumed he was a visiting knight from within the teyrnir. "I will bet you, Ser, that nobody ever expected you to so much as thread a needle while you were in training."

"On the contrary." Loghain found himself mentally comparing the girl to his own daughter at the same age - Anora had been taller, but not by much, and considerably less of a tomboy. She had certainly never sneaked off to the training yards, at least not as far as he could remember, after being taught the very basics to permit her to defend herself at need. Anora's weapons were her tongue and her quick brain, and later a political acumen that had amazed Loghain, wondering just where she had learned some of it. "A soldier learns to take care of his own kit, young lady, and that includes his clothes. Nobody forced me to learn fancy embroidery, it is true, but I spent enough time darning socks and shirts. No skill is ever wasted."

The sulky face brightened. "I could not agree more, ser." The mischief was plain on her round face. "So perhaps since you just watched me lose a bout of swordplay, you would be kind enough to give me a few pointers as to where I went wrong? My brother cannot possibly object to that, since he was so unhappy at me being here without a knight supervising the practice?"

Fergus looked almost set to explode. Loghain looked from one Cousland sibling to the other, and then laughed. "Excellent tactics, young lady. Divide and conquer, with a hint of flattery?" Her face fell, and then the smile was back as Loghain unbuckled his own sword belt and laid it on the floor. "Be so good as to bring me one of those practice blades?"

Fergus sighed as the girl scampered towards the sword racks. Loghain clapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, lad. Now, it isn't a case of you allowing your young sister to get away with mischief, it is a case of you humouring the whims of an older guest. No blame attaches to you."

Muirnara returned and presented the blunted metal blade to him formally, laid across her wrist. Loghain took it and saluted her with the gravity he would have given to a much older opponent, unslinging his own shield from his back and looping it over his arm, a plain and unornamented wood and metal kite. She dropped back a pace and returned his salute, with a intense expression on her face and no smile now, that look belonged on a fighter many years older than she was, an careful assessment of a new duelling partner. No, it would not do to underestimate this one.

He started with a formal drill sequence, counting a slow stroke time out loud, adding comments. "Shield up, no, up further! There, and no lower, your shield is useless to you round your ankles. Shieldwork is the essence of good fighting, do not neglect it. " He picked up the pace a little, taking care not to put force behind his strokes. Abruptly she altered the pattern and tried a thrust, he caught it with his own shield and threw the blade aside, almost disarming her. "Never on a taller opponent, young lady. Not ever." He laid a smart touch over her ribs with the flat of his blade, hard enough to sting. "If you turn your body to prevent the loss of your blade, you leave your whole side open."

She gasped at the blow, but nodded grimly and came at him again. He caught stroke after stroke on his shield, then shifted his position, drawing her forward, as she came after him he saw her shield drop again and instantly was under her guard, the point of his blade at her neck. "You see what I mean?"

She nodded and dropped back. "My thanks to you, Ser." She saluted him again and stepped away. He returned the salute and turned away to return the sword to the rack. As he walked back, he could see that a familiar face was walking to join them, Arl Rendon Howe. Muirnara appeared to have seen him too, and with a muttered word to Fergus she was away, running in the direction of the forsaken schoolroom. Loghain reclaimed his own swordbelt and greeted Howe formally.

Howe seemed amused. "Giving Bryce's little spitfire a lesson in swordplay? I hope Eleanor doesn't find out, she thinks Bryce encourages the girl enough as it is."

He nodded. "For her age she's not bad at all." He looked back at Fergus. "I don't imagine that you will betray me to Eleanor, will you?"

"Of course not." Fergus gestured and the three men started to walk back towards the main hall. "Just as well Muir didn't realise who you were, Your Grace, you've been a hero of hers for years. You'd never have got a word out of her, just tongue tied gazing."

"Maker forbid." Loghain had winced at that.

Howe laughed. "The halo weighs heavy these days, does it, old friend?"

"Perhaps." He looked thoughful, his gaze drifting in the direction that the young girl had gone. "Ten years old is too young to become disappointed in your heroes. Their feet of clay show soon enough when you get older. For a little while longer, let her keep her dreams."


End file.
